I hate her
by AlwaysElisabethian
Summary: She's the reason that every week, I have sex with my best friend. She's the reason he's hurting enough to have sex with me. But mostly, she's the reason I'll never have him. Because he loves her. I hate her.


**I hate her**

I can't believe I actually agreed to doing this. When your best friend calls you, to tell you he needs to talk to you as soon as possible, sounding drunk and broken, you should absolutely agree to meet with him. But if you're in love with said best friend, who just so happens to be _engaged _you really shouldn't. You should come up with an excuse and stay home, hoping he will forgive you.

But of course, I am way too stupid to actually realise that. So here I am, driving to my best friends apartment, with ice cream and bourbon. Oh, and did I mention that apartment is the one he shares with his fianceé? The same fianceé that's probably the reason why he's this broken.  
To be honest, I don't really get why they're engaged. I mean, they've been fighting throughout their whole relationship, being on and off constantly, the past year. And it's always _her _fault. She's the one cheating on him, telling him, and returning next morning, crying her eyes out, telling him she can't live without him.

I hate her.

There's not much more to say. I hate her so God damn much. That bitch, that skank, that whore. She's the reason the most important man in my life has spent the last four years trying to live up to impossible standards. She's the reason my best friend, my _only _friend in this world, spends most of his days being sad. To be honest, I want her dead. Because she won't just disappear from his life on her own. She keeps coming back, and she keeps making his life miserable.

I hate her.

Most of all, because she's the reason I'm on my way to his apartment right now. He didn't say anything about her on the phone, but I could hear it in his voice. I just knew she had done it again. And now I was going over there, and I know exactly what is going to happen. Because it is always the same thing that happens. I get too close. He needs someone to comfort him, and of course I'm there. I'm there to hold him, to let him sob, to let him tell me just how much he misses her, just how much he loves her.

I hate her.

I park in the familiar drive in front of the big building, and slowly makes my way to the front entrance. I can feel my heart speed up, as I make my way up the stairs, and I know it's not from the exercise. As always, I'm nervous about seeing him. I already know how my heart is going to flutter when he opens the door and throw his arms around my neck. I already know exactly how he's going to smell of alcohol, how he's going to smile when he realise I brought more. And I know how he will thank me. I know all that, just like I know it's all her fault.

I hate her.

I hesitate for a brief moment, before I knock on his door. I hear the thump of his steps, as he hurries to the door. He'll be there, looking at me in less than three seconds. I will be looking into his bloodshot, blue, beautiful eyes in less than three seconds. And his arms will be around my body in five seconds. I'll be in his apartment in ten. We'll be on his couch in thirty. We'll be drinking in sixty. He'll start talking in eighty. And I know exactly what's going to happen, in ten minutes. When he's done talking about her.

I hate her.

I hear him say my name, as he wraps his arms around me and pulls me inside. He smells strongly of alcohol. Just like I knew he would. Of course he has been drinking. And maybe it's wrong of me to bring more alcohol. Of course I don't want him to start drinking permanently. He already drinks every single time _she _does this to him. And it's starting to happen often. It only happened twice during their first year together. But then it started rising. Now she did it almost every week. And he calls me every week. And the same thing happens every week. I wish she knew how to treat him.

I hate her.

Within long, we're sitting in his couch, and he's taken the bottle of bourbon out of my hands. He mutters a silent comment about me knowing exactly what he needs, before taking a swig from the bottle. Of course I know what he needs. This has been going on for four years. I know what's going to happen. It's the same every time.

He smiles at me, reaching for the ice cream, while handing me one of the spoons from his coffee table. His smile isn't real, though. I can see how it doesn't reach his eyes. Of course it doesn't. Because he's sad. He's had his heart broken once again. And I know that he'll call me tomorrow evening, telling me everything about her coming back, crying, telling him just how much he means to her.

I hate her.

His voice breaks the tension as he utters a few words. He tells me about _her_ coming home, lipstick smeared across all of her face, and the normal smirk in place. He tells me about her words, how she told him that she found a new guy, and that he wouldn't ever be enough to her. That he isn't good enough, that she needs more.

I let him cry. Actually, I put my arm around him, as he cries, and I just hold him. Because I know exactly what he needs. We've been here so many times. And every time I see him like this, my heart breaks. Because I know he deserves better. I know he deserves someone that loves him someone that would give her life to make him happy. He deserves someone who would want to do everything for him.

And yet, he's stuck with _her_.

I hate her.

The ice cream is gone, and so is most of the alcohol. Of course he isn't the only one drinking. It's tough for me to see my best friend, the man of my dreams like this. I hate seeing him broken. I hate seeing him cry, knowing that I would be so much better with him. Knowing, that I won't ever be with him, even though we would be perfect together.

Because he'll never see me like that. I'm his friend. His best friend. The annoying little sister, the one he's known ever since we were kids. But _she. _

Apparently _she _is the only one he can think about. Because he keeps holding on. Even though I tell him how completely ridiculous it is, he keeps holding on to her. He keeps inviting her back with open arms. And worst of all, he keeps calling me, telling me everything about their happy reunion, and how they've decided everything's going to change. But of course it isn't. He wants to change. But _she _doesn't.

I hate her.

I hear the words leave his mouth. My whole body tenses up, as they slip into my ear, while his body is coming closer. His arms wraps around my waist, as he pulls me to his side. The sweet words never stop flowing from his mouth. Words of how much I mean to me. Words of how much he loves me, and how much he wants to be with me. I feel my heart flutter at his statements, as I lean into his touch, incapable of rejecting him. I know I should. He's engaged. To a bitch, but engaged nonetheless. And I'm his best friend.

But I can't do it. I can't reject him. That's why I don't protest when his soft lips lands on mine, giving me the kiss of my life. I don't say anything, as his body slowly lays me down on the couch, his covering mine. His hands wander around on my body, slowly making their way onto my skin. As one hand reach my breast, I let a moan escape from my lips, giving him complete access to my mouth. His tongue is in my mouth, playing with mine, like it's a dance we've been doing all of our lives.

I feel my own traitorous hands go under his t-shirt, caressing the soft skin of his back. The shirt is off before I know, and mine is going off afterward. As Damon lowers his body onto mine again, I can't help but let out another moan, delighted by the tingles shooting around in my body, everywhere his skin is touching mine.

I should be shy. I should hide my body from him, and I should most definitely stop this, right here and now.

But I just can't. I'm way too caught up in his wonderful kisses, the way his hands caresses my body, moving to my back and unclasping my black lacy bra. I shiver, as he gently pulls it off my body, exposing my breasts to him. His eyes widen, as he takes in the view in front of him. Then he let out a small growl, and places his mouth on my right nipple.

I let out a not so discreet moan, as my back aches. How can something like that affect me like it is? Why am I panting this way?

My thoughts are thrown completely out of my head, as his hand slowly makes it's way down to my pants, starting to unbutton them. Once again, I know I should stop him. I know that I should walk away. But I'm just not capable of doing that. I can't reject him. He means too much to me. That's why I close my eyes, and enjoy the sensation of his mouth on my breast, and his hands sliding my jeans off my legs. And for one blissful moment, I can actually imagine I'm his, and he's mine. That I'm the girl in his life. The _only _girl in his life.

My name escapes his lips, as he kisses his way down my body, breathing on my already soaked panties. I'm completely ready for him, and he knows that. But he's not going to let me off that easy. His drunken eyes looks at me, a smirk playing on his lips, as he bites into the string of my thong, and takes it off. Again, I can't help but let a moan out. It feels good. That man is way too experienced.

As his lips hits my wet folds, I stop complaining. I follow the best advice I've ever been given, and I just enjoy. I let the feeling of his hot breath and his talented mouth fill all of my body, making me ready for the first orgasm of the night. He knows exactly how to get me off.

In matter of seconds, my muscles tighten, and I scream his name out loud, as fireworks goes off underneath my eyelids.

As he moves back to his previous position, he's smirking. He let's out a cocky comment on how he made me scream, while lifting me from the couch. I'm not surprised, as he steps into the bedroom with me in his arms. He throws me down on the bed, while talking of what he's going to do to me. I cut him off with a kiss. I can't get enough of him. This time could be our last. I don't want to waste another minute of our time together.

That's why I let my hands wander, opening his pants, taking them off, pleased to see him go commando. Of course he goes commando. A guy like him does that.

His hand strokes my hair, as his wonderful blue orbs looks into my eyes. He tells me how beautiful I am, how much he cares for me, and how much he wants to be with me. The sight of his pupils tells me he's still unbelievably drunk, but I can't bring my self to care. I want those words. I want this memory. That's why I don't say anything, but kisses him softly on the lips, as I can feel him position his throbbing member at my entrance.

I let out a pleasure-filled sigh, as he glides into me, filling me to the hilt. He's not holding back his own moans, as he moves, hitting different spots every time. My hands finds his back again, as I pull him closer, wanting to feel his skin on mine. He speeds up, as he places a kiss on my lips. My moans increases, and my nails starts dragging across his back, making him growl.

And when we come together, we're both chanting each others names, as if our lives depended on it. He collapses on the other side of the bed, completely worn out from what just happened. He places a trail of kisses down my neck, before whispering goodnight. It doesn't take long for his breath to even out, and I know his asleep.

I place one kiss on his forehead, before making my way out of bed. I look at him, sighing, and then goes back downstairs, quickly putting on my clothes. Tears are falling from my cheeks, as I make my way to the car. This wouldn't have happened if _she_ hadn't been in his life.

I hate her.

I let my self break down, as I sit in my car. It's just like the other nights. I don't know why I keep on answering his calls. I know exactly what's going to happen, because it's the same every time. And I know that tomorrow, he'll call me, telling me how _she _came home, telling him she's giving him another chance. He'll never mention anything about our nights together. He never does. Sometimes I don't think he remembers them. He's drunk, every time. Maybe he just doesn't like thinking about it. I know he regrets it every time. Or else, he wouldn't be returning to _her_ next morning. Once again, I wish he could see just how bad she is for him.

I hate her.

There's nothing more to say. She's the reason that every week, I have sex with my best friend, whom I've been in love with, ever since I started liking boys. She's the reason he never talks to me about what happens during our nights together. She's the reason why he's hurting enough to turn to comfort sex with me. And most of all, she's the reason why I'll never have him. Because he loves her.

I hate her.

* * *

**Well, there you have it! Now, my lovely and wonderful beta _Foreverfirstloves _is telling me to make this into a multichaptered story (or else she will!). I really want you guys' opinion on this. So, if you leave a review (which I really hope you do!) please let me know if you think I should continue, or let it be a one-shot. Thank you SO much for reading. **


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